Vice
by CarnelianKiss
Summary: Harry travels back in time a little worse for wear.


**Warnings/Alerts: Contains Time travel, Slash, Emotional and Physical torture, Graphic scenes of violence, Insanity, Mature Scenes. This is not a happy fanfiction, at least not completely, and a lot of it will be the writer's exploration in attempts to convey insanity through text. Please do not read if you feel that you might have any sort of psychological triggers.**

**Rated: M **

"Harry Potter."

"Voldemort." Harry's eyes shrieked with fear. He snarls his next words. "Oh no, should I say _Tom_?"

The monster's irises bled crimson, full of malice. Death. Murder.

I just want it all to stop.

"_Crucio!_"

Harry stumbled to the side, ducking the spell as it was flung straight at his chest. He crashed against the trunk of a tree, and pinned himself against it. Gods, he was so fucking scared.

He couldn't be. Wasn't allowed though. Not fair. No one played fair.

This was.

"This was war," he whispered, looking down at his ripped trainers.

He fought the urge to retch.

A death eater lay crumpled at his feet, arms pulled from their sockets, bodily fluids soaked across the dead grass as if painting life back into the weeds.

The man—woman—thing's heart had been torn from it's chest, claw marks scratched across the delicate skin without mercy.

He had someone else's blood on his hands—on his legs—from kneeling in that putrid grass. He wanted to rip them off.

He didn't need his hands. He didn't need his legs. He just needed to breathe.

He closed his eyes and tried. Gasping, burning. His throat hurt. Everything hurt.

I just want it all to stop. He was bloody fucking _tired_.

Voldemort laughed, too high and terrifying, and Harry felt something break inside that wasn't supposed to as he laughed along with him.

His eyes were burning too but he wasn't crying. Not yet.

Not yet.

He stared at the locket in his hand. Just one more.

Fuck just one more.

He stuck his hands on the death in front of him and use it to push himself up, running back towards Voldemort. Back towards Death.

He'd face it head-on. He wasn't scared. He couldn't be. _He wanted this_—

"_AVADA KEDAVRA_!"

He smiled a small, sad smile, at that flashing green light all the way till it hit his heart.

All done.

Harry woke with a gasp.

It was It was It was

He felt warm, why was he warm? He didn't want to be warm. Why was he warm?

_Fuck_

He felt like someone had socked him square in the face with a metal fist.

He brought

No the blood—it wasn't his, on his hands it wasn't his. His throat hurt, why did it hurt—oh god he'd scratched it! Fuck FUCK.

That meant the other—the dead one, the DEATH EATER, his blood, her—it's BLOOD WAS IN HIM.

It was in him I-It was _in_ him.

Why couldn't he stop?

"I'm suffocating! I'msuffocatingI'msuffocatinghelpI'm—"

"You're not suffocating, boy! You've plenty of air in your lungs—let go of yourself at once!"

It was in him I-It was _in_ him.

Why couldn't he stop?

H-He.

He just wanted to stop.

"… _Merlin_."

"_Poppy_! WHAT DID I SAY JUST NOW ABOUT COMING IN HERE? Out with you!"

The shrill, high pitched scream—Voldemort? No. Tom? Yes. Laughing, why, no don't let him laugh—Tom's not supposed to laugh—_STOP MAKING HIM LAUGH!_

—I can't stop laughing—

"Oh, I-I-I I can't breathe. No I… "

He heard a trill, a lullaby—it was soft, too sweet but he felt it melt all the way down to his frozen toes. It sang to him, nurturing his cold heart, cooling the annoying heat around his body he didn't fucking want. It told him to breathe.

He took his first breath. He felt like he should be screaming, crying. Like a babe. Like a little unimportant dot of ink in a book. Running, running down a piece of parchment. Oh he'd made a mess, a bloody mess, a bloody mess—

Breathe Harry. That voice again, the trilling...

Ok. Ok. I can do that. Ok.

"Do you believe the boy is… sane, Madame?"

"Albus I… I don't know for certain, you can't just look at a child and say they've lost their sanity, Albus!"

There was a period of meaningful silence that nearly choked him again it was so full.

"I'm sorry, it's just—he looks like he's been threw _hell, _Albus."

Albus? Why is Albus here? He was at King's Cross, he took the train, he took it without him—he'd left him cause—_Harry said no_—

_"… _I said…_"_

_"_Madam, I think he's trying to speak, remove the wards! Hurry!"

Harry said no.

—- —- — —

a/n: so yeah, not going to be a happy (edit: I say that but as I write chapter 1 Harry's character is getting a bit, funny? I don't know) fic, nope not at all. But it's still slash (eventually), and still Tom/Harry (eventually). Oh well, what can I say? I'm obsessed. Also this is will be a _dark fic_, as in _Harry's going dark_. Maybe. We'll see. So… not canon. At all. Well hopefully not to the point of OOC gone horribly wrong but we'll see I guess :) "socked in the face with a metal fist" is essentially a re-worded sentence from Harry in the Deathly Hallows, describing the killing curse, btw.


End file.
